


just an ordinary day

by diana_hawthorne (dhawthorne)



Series: Private Lives [13]
Category: Law & Order
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-23 00:07:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17069795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhawthorne/pseuds/diana_hawthorne
Summary: Just an ordinary day in the life of Mike Logan.Set June 1999.





	just an ordinary day

He’s hunched forward in his desk chair, typing out another endless report about some stolen lawnmower, when his pager goes off, buzzing loudly on the aluminum desk. He finishes the sentence, then picks it up, looking at the message.

_Lnx Hl Rm 1402_

His heart leaps in his chest when he deciphers the message, standing up so abruptly that he knocks over his chair.

‘Mikey, what gives?’ Frankie Silvera asks, raising an eyebrow over her report. ‘It’s three o’clock, too early even for you to blow off work for some girl.’

‘It’s nothin’,’ he says, forcing himself to sit back down. She’s right--it’s three o’clock and how the hell will he explain his sudden absence? They’re in between cases now, domestic violence on the Island apparently having a slow week, so he can’t even pretend he’s making a house call. And after the Taylor case he’s been on a short leash.

‘Doesn’t look like nothin’ to me,’ she presses, though she turns her attention back to her report. ‘Who is she?’

‘It’s nothin’, I told you, Frankie, okay?’

She shrugs. ‘Okay, don’t talk about it.’

He tries to turn his attention back to his report, tapping his pen against the desk in a loud tattoo.

‘Look, you don’t have to tell me, but you’ve gotta stop with the drum tryouts, alright? You’re driving me up the wall,’ she says.

‘Yeah, okay, whatever,’ he says, throwing the pen on the desk and standing up again. ‘I’m gonna get a coffee.’

‘Yeah, good idea--caffeine will make you less jumpy,’ she remarks sarcastically, but she’s absorbed in her work again and it lacks the sting of her earlier response.

He gets a cup of coffee and goes outside the precinct to drink it, wishing he smoked. At least then he’d have something to do instead of pacing anxiously, the June weather already hot and humid. Did she have the baby already? Presumably, as she’s in a room and he doubts she’d page him while she was in labor. He’s surprised she paged him at all, though, to be fair, she did promise the one and only time they’d talked about what happened.

He’d run into her on the street almost three months ago now, in the middle of April. He’d seen her long before she noticed him, recognizing her distinctive walk, that trench coat she always wore as winter turned into spring. And then, when she saw him, her hand flew to her stomach, his eyes left her face, and he realized, with a jolt, that she was pregnant. He kept walking forward until he was finally within arm’s reach.

‘This is a surprise,’ he said frankly. ‘Didn’t know you were expectin’. How far along are you?’

It seemed to take her years to clear her throat and look at him. ‘Six months,’ she admitted.

He froze. He knew to a day how long it had been, and it had been just over six months. He couldn’t think, his mind stopping on that one fact. 

‘Six?’ he breathed, then stepped closer to lay a hand on the swell of her stomach. He heard her sharp intake of breath, felt her hand grip his wrist, but all his attention was fixed on the feel of their child’s foot against his hand.

‘Liz--Jesus, Liz--’ he said at last, looking into her eyes, and she dropped her gaze immediately.

‘I have to go,’ she told him, stepping away.

‘But--’

‘Goodbye, Logan.’

She moved away from him with surprising agility and he had to jog to catch up with her.

‘Liz, we need to talk about this--’

She ignored him, biting her lip hard as she walked faster. 

‘Lizzie--’ he begged, gripping her elbow and turning her around to face him. She fixed her gaze on his shoes, refusing to meet his eyes, her shoulders stiffening as he stood in front of her.

‘Leave me alone,’ she stated.

His hand slid down to her wrist and he felt her pulse racing.

‘Honey, you’ve got to talk to me,’ he said, deliberately gentling his voice, slipping his fingers under her chin to force her to look up.

‘I don’t,’ she replied stubbornly, flinching away. ‘Let go of me.’

Suddenly she stuck out her hand to hail a cab, pulling away from him and slipping into the cab before he could say anything at all. He watched the cab drive away. As soon as it disappeared from view he found a pay phone and called her office, insisting on having her last appointment for the next day. They needed to talk.

When he came into her office she was waiting for him, nervous, sitting as far as she could from the chair she gestured to. He ignored the chair, pacing, and when he couldn’t contain himself any longer he suddenly burst out, ‘It’s mine, isn’t it?’

She inclined her head.

‘Does Ben know?’

‘No. He doesn’t know, can’t know.’

He met her eyes, noticed how her calm mask was slipping. ‘So--that’s it? I’m not in the picture?’

‘How could you be?’ she asked him, her voice so filled with grief he wanted to sob. How the hell did they get to that point?

After a long moment he walked over to her and knelt at her side, looking at her for permission before resting a hand on the curve of her belly. He looked into her eyes and she reached down to rest her hand on his.

‘Lizzie--I want to be. Our baby… let me be a part of their life. Please. I want to be there.’

She looked at him and his breath caught in his throat as she said, ‘I can’t do it, Mike. I can’t leave Ben because of this. He didn’t even want children initially, he already has a daughter, but when he found out I was pregnant he was overjoyed…’ she bit her lip and stopped, clearly distraught. It couldn’t be good for the baby for her to be this agitated… he looked at her and carefully considered his next words.

‘But it’s not his. It’s my baby,’ he said, running his hands over the swell of her stomach. He could feel the baby kick, his child… this is what he wanted so badly. He thought they’d have children together, he brought it up once years ago… and then they got derailed by her rape, and Phil’s shooting, by Sherri West and when they finally got back on track, when he finally saved up enough to buy her a ring, it was over.

‘I do love him, you know, Mike,’ she said, quiet. ‘I’m married to him. We made a mistake, that’s all. That’s what _you_ said. Ben is going to be this baby’s father. He is my husband, and there’s no need for him to find out ever that he’s not actually the father.’

He sighed, watching as she pressed her lips together tightly to stop from saying anything else, then he said, ‘I want to be a part of my child’s life.’

She looked at him for another long moment, eyes unreadable. He could barely breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t stop looking at her, praying silently for the first time in years… ‘It’s too late,’ she said at last, and his heart plummeted. ‘You couldn’t even return my phone calls when I tried to tell you… so how could this work? It could never work, Mike… what would happen? This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be… this isn’t something you wanted, or at least nothing you said you wanted for the last three years we were together. I’m married to someone else. And now… now, this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Would you even be here to help me with the baby? And when you were… oh, Mike, I can’t imagine it any more. You’d grow to resent us. You’d want to be free, and a baby would take your attention away from your work, keep you at home instead of going out with your friends and the other detectives and then, eventually, you’d leave. And that would be that.’

He sat back, stunned by her lack of faith in him, the bleak picture she paints, but aware of more than a hint of truth in her words. They’re different people now than they were when they were together.

‘Is that what you think?’ he asked, defensive because he knows that she’s right and he’s wrong. ‘Is that what you think would happen?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, that’s what would happen. And as much as I love you…’ she trailed off, and he stood up, turning away from her, trying to hide his distress. He’s never going to know his child.

‘At least tell me when the baby is born. Promise me,’ he entreated, forcing himself to remain calm, expressionless.

‘I will,’ she vowed.

He looked back at her, seeing her white face, the hand resting on her belly, the stricken gaze. He nodded once and then left the room.

He shakes his head to dispel the sadness of that memory, the knowledge that he didn’t fight hard enough, or at all--but he didn’t know how. He takes a swig of his coffee, spitting the cold liquid back into the cup. Disgusting.

Looking at his watch, he sighs. Three-thirty. Time to go back in and finish work.

Frankie’s away from her desk when he gets back, so he pulls out the phone book and looks up the number for Lenox Hill.

‘Maternity,’ he says when asked for which ward.

‘Lenox Hill Maternity Ward,’ a cool female voice answers.

‘Yeah, hi, I was wonderin’ about visiting hours?’

‘Visiting hours are from 10 a.m. till 9 p.m.,’ she says. ‘Can I help you with anything else?’

‘No, that’s it, thanks,’ he says, hanging up the phone. He checks his watch again. Quarter to four. Such long time to go.

 

For once he’s glad of his long commute home. By the time he gets uptown it’s already seven-thirty. He grabs a slice of pizza from the place on the corner, then goes up to his apartment. Should he change? Yeah, he should--he’s been in these clothes all day, and it was a long one. But what should he wear? He feels stupidly nervous about this. He hasn’t seen her in months and she just had his child. His child… he doesn’t even know if the baby is a boy or a girl. 

He changes into jeans and a tshirt, but it’s still too early to go so he sits down and watches some senseless game show until nine. He decides to walk the twenty blocks to Lenox Hill to make sure all of her visitors will have gone, and he stops by a florist a few blocks from the hospital to buy her a bouquet of white roses. He brought her a dozen on their first real date, all those years ago, when he took Phil’s advice about wooing her. It’d worked… at the time.

When he gets to the maternity ward he feels his heart going like a jackhammer.

‘Yeah, I’m here to see Elizabeth Olivet,’ he tells the nurse on duty, then pauses. ‘Um, she might be registered as Elizabeth Stone.’ He doesn’t know what name she goes by; it breaks his heart.

‘Visiting hours are over for today,’ she says, not looking up from her paperwork.

He leans forward, forcing her to look up, then grins. ‘I’m sure you can make an exception for the NYPD, right?’ he says, flashing his badge.

She’s not bad looking actually when she smiles, he notes absently. ‘Well, for you…’ she trails off suggestively. ‘She’s in room 1402, just down the hall on your left.’

‘Thanks,’ he says, grinning again, then takes off as quickly as possible down the hallway.

 

Her door is closed and he peers in through the window first, then eases it open, light spilling into the room. She is asleep, her hand resting on the baby’s stomach as she sleeps in the crib by her side. He stands in the doorway, watching as she slowly wakes up and looks at him. He’s never seen her so surprised; she blinks rapidly as though she can’t believe her eyes. Maybe she can’t.

‘Visiting hours are over,’ she says, her voice unsteady, questioning, as though she’s unsure she’s awake.

‘Perks of being a cop,’ he shrugs, closing the door behind him as he steps closer, standing at the end of the bed so he can see her better. She struggles to sit up, turning on the bedside light, throwing her face into sharp relief. She looks pale and worn out, dark circles beneath her eyes. ‘You okay?’

‘Exhausted,’ she admits, then pauses, unable to repress a small, radiant smile. ‘Exhilarated.’

He steps forward to bend over the crib, setting the flowers down on the nightstand. ‘A girl?’ he asks in confirmation, noting the pink blanket. He can’t stop looking at the baby, this child, his child--a rosebud, utterly perfect.

‘Yes.’

‘She’s beautiful,’ he breathes, leaning closer to take her all in, this tiny little person they made sleeping so softly. He wants to touch her, to trace the satiny curve of her cheek, but something stops him. He can feel her gaze on him and knows she’s watching carefully.

‘Yes, she is.’ Her voice trembles. ‘Do you want to hold her?’

He looks at her, just catching a flicker of emotion that vanishes in the next instant. Her gaze steady again, he asks, too eager, ‘Can I?’

‘You _are_ her father.’

He ignores the trace of accusation in her voice and picks her up gently, cradling her in hands that seem suddenly so large compared to the baby. ‘Hello there, honey,’ he whispers, tracing her cheek with one gentle finger. Her skin is so soft, like Liz’s but softer, like nothing he’s ever felt in his life. He’s held his share of babies before but there is something so entirely different with her. ‘What’s her name?’ he asks, fighting hard to keep every trace of emotion from his voice. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

‘Caroline,’ she replies in a voice just as careful and stilted as his.

‘Caroline,’ he whispers, the name fitting her perfectly. ‘Hi, Caroline. Hey there, sweetheart. I’m your dad.’

She suddenly stirs, opening her large eyes to look at him, her gaze grey like her mother’s. He thought all babies had blue eyes… 

‘She has your eyes,’ he says, voice thickening as he fights back tears. He turns away from her, still looking into Caroline’s eyes, rocking his daughter softly. He takes in every detail; her button of a nose; the pointed chin that will soon emerge from the baby fat. She has the smallest swirl of auburn hair and tiny licks of eyebrows like his, a sight that makes his heart skip a beat. She looks like her mother except for that.

Caroline stretches and yawns, then closes her eyes again. He can feel her breathing settle, feels the sudden heaviness of sleep that weighs down her limbs. He turns around to face Liz.

‘She’s asleep,’ he says, meeting her eyes.

‘Come sit here,’ she says, patting the edge of the bed. He does as she asks, perching next to her, still carefully holding his daughter. She looks down at the baby in his arms and rests her cheek on his shoulder, such a natural, unconscious gesture he could forget to every bad thing that’s happened. For a moment he can pretend that this is their life, that they are happy, that he has everything he’s ever wanted.

‘She’s perfect,’ he says softly, still looking at Caroline. ‘She looks just like you, Lizzie. Our daughter.’

And then, all at once, she crumples and he places Caroline gently, reluctantly back in her crib before he reaches out to take Liz in his arms. She clutches at him, her sobs silent yet violent, and he holds her tight, stroking her newly-cropped hair, missing the weight and length of it and the way she was.

‘I miss you, Mike. I miss you so much…’ she hiccups, her words so quiet he can barely hear her, as though she is admitting something under duress. Well, she is, isn’t she? He made her believe he no longer loved her, made her question if he ever did, and she’d never chase after him. Even now, sitting here with her in his arms and their daughter next to them, he’s aware of just how unsure she is of him, of this moment. He can feel her tears soak through the worn cotton of his tshirt.

‘I miss the way we were. I wish we could be like that again, but it’s too late, too late.’

He has nothing to say. She’s right--it’s too late. He fucked it up totally and he’s lost his chance to be his daughter’s father, to even be present in her life. And he’s lost her too. Tonight, this moment, is just stolen time.

Her sobs finally ease and he moves to pull away, not wanting to hurt her further. Immediately she tightens her grip.

‘No, please stay. Hold me, please,’ she begs. ‘I still love you, Mike. I can’t help it… please, can we just pretend for a little bit?’ It takes her a visible effort to say that last sentence and, with her body pressed so close against his, he can feel her heart pound in her chest. His gut twists with guilt.

After a long moment of silence she tilts her head up to look at him.

‘Never pegged you for a dreamer,’ he quips at last, needing to create a little distance from what will never be their life. Her eyes fill again with private, anguished tears. After an aching heartbeat she moves away, straightening her back and putting mental, if not physical, distance between them.

He clears his throat, immediately regretting his words, even though they are necessary. How can he walk away tonight if he thought he had even the slimmest of chances? And yet he has to say, ‘I want to to see her, Liz. I want to be a part of her life, be her dad…’

‘What would that look like?’ she interrupts.

‘What d’you mean?’

‘If you were a part of her life. If we told everyone you were her father. How would you want to be involved?’

He doesn’t know the answer. What he really wants is for the three of them to be a family, but she is right--it’s too late, even if he could admit he still loves her. He can’t, so--what would it look like with just him and the baby, if they had joint custody? How would he manage taking care of a baby with his hours and commute? When she’s older, how could he ever hope to give her anything approaching what Liz can provide? And what if… what if he hurts her, somehow, by mistake? He wouldn’t mean to, but he knows the stats just as well as she does. Children who were abused are six times more likely to grow up and abuse their own. How can they take that risk without Liz to keep him in check? He wants Caroline to have the world, not whatever meager scraps he has to offer. 

‘I--I don’t know,’ he admits, avoiding her gaze. ‘I guess… I guess I thought…’

She lets out the smallest sigh imaginable, something in her posture betraying that she’d hoped for a different, better answer.

‘But--I still want to see her,’ he says in a rush. ‘I don’t want to wonder… I want to know her, Liz. My daughter…’

She closes her eyes. ‘I’m tired,’ she says, voice bleak.

‘But Liz--’

She says, without opening her eyes, ‘Please go, Mike.’

He stands up from the bed and walks over to their daughter’s crib, looking down at her for what might be the last time.

‘Be well, honey,’ he says to the baby, touching her cheek. He doesn’t know what else to say. Dragging himself away from Caroline, he looks back at the only woman he’s ever loved.

‘Thank you, Liz,’ he offers at last, and she opens her eyes in surprise.

‘For what?’

‘For our daughter.’

Her lower lip trembles and when she speaks her voice is strained. ‘I hope you can understand.’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I understand better than you think,’ he replies, bitterness coating every word. ‘Take care of her.’

He turns away before she can respond, closing the door behind him.


End file.
